


Elder Scrolls One-Shots

by WinterDrake



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7653118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterDrake/pseuds/WinterDrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of shorter fanfictions I've written about the Elder Scrolls universe, mainly involving Miraak and a female Dragonborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mannequin

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a link to the list of prompts I'm using: https://docs.google.com/document/d/17zYKYfk1Y6GK2cIxddTu2wRPqM6390ATQFtWW_8uM8w/edit?usp=sharing
> 
> If you like something here and want to write a longer story, feel free to send me a message! I'd love for people to take any of these shorter pieces and write longer fics for them! Just please send me a message first and link this work in your fic when you post it? :)

The Dragonborn looked over pile in her hands and sighed. She would never wear or use these items. They were the legacy of the First Dragonborn. This was all that was left of him, all of what had been allowed to return to Nirn.

The woman placed the pile of clothes and weapons on a dresser, pausing just a moment before picking up Miraak's robe. It was made of an unidentifiable but high quality material. The cloth was soft but also sturdy. The Dragonborn could feel the power of the enchantments on the robe.

The female warrior felt the urge to try it on but she dismissed it. It felt wrong to wear the belongings of a dead man, the only other person who had been like her. Though she hated what Miraak had done, she respected what he was. A Dragonborn. The very First. Chosen to be a hero but had somehow been corrupted.

The Dragonborn did not wish to use Miraak's weapons or armor but she did not want to leave them to rot in some chest somewhere. She didn't want to give them away either, feeling that all three of these choices were disrespectful to her defeated enemy.

The only thing the warrior could think of was to place them on one of the mannequins in Severin Manor, which now belonged to her. Miraak's legacy would stay on Solstheim, where he had spent thousands of years trying to return to. It would be displayed in a respectful way. The Dragonborn felt this was the best choice for now.

With that in mind, the female warrior began to dress the model. When she was finished, the woman stepped back and looked the figure over. She shivered. Covered as it was in Miraak's clothing, the mannequin looked like it could come to life at any moment.

The Dragonborn wondered if this was a good idea. The figure was unnerving in its lifelikeness. It was too late now though, as she was almost done. It wasn't like she used this house much anyway so she wouldn't have to be near the model often.

The Dragonborn picked up Miraak's staff next, setting it into the weapon rack near the model's right hand. The woman turned away to grab the final piece, Miraak's sword, but froze when she heard a curious sound. Movement, the creaking of leather. Then the rattling of metal.

She began to turn back and saw something move from the corner of her eyes. She reacted just in time to to avoid the golden staff aimed at her head. She jumped back in a defensive position and froze once more, this time in shock. She inhaled sharply and her eyes widened at the sight of the mannequin moving on its own. The figure glowed with ethereal light as it raised the staff once more.

Fear beginning to take hold, the Dragonborn Shouted on instinct, her powerful Voice sending the mannequin flying into the wall behind it. She heard it shatter, the staff to falling from its limp hand. It lay there brokenly as the light faded from around it.

The Dragonborn stared at the broken figure in bewilderment. What in Oblivion was that? She dashed to the downed mannequin and picked off all of Miraak's belongings. She quickly tossed them into a chest and locked it tight. The warrior then shoved it underneath several other crates and boxes.

Greatly unnerved, the Dragonborn hastily left the manor. She decided she'd be staying in the Retching Netch tonight. The woman would deal with the mess she left behind tomorrow. As she walked to the inn, the warrior wondered what would have happened had _she_ tried on Miraak's belongings. She shuddered at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna use this to post all the shorter pieces I've written. Reviews are always welcome!


	2. Soul

He owned her. She knew that now.

 

Defeated by Miraak, the female Dragonborn fled Solstheim to fight another day. She felt empty after the battle however, like a piece of her remained behind.

 

Licking her wounds in Skyrim, the Dragonborn attempted to rest and heal. She vowed to fight Miraak once more, and as many more times as it took, to defeat him. She was the Last Dragonborn, a prophesied warrior, and would not stop fighting until she was dead.

 

Healing was hard, however, as the warrior found that she slept little. Only a few days home, an urge began to take hold of her to return to Solstheim. To go and seek out what was missing. The woman resisted, fearing what the urge could mean.

 

Slowly, the warrior began to lose enjoyment in even the simple things in life. Food became tasteless, excitement was hard to summon up and smiles were eventually never genuine. Instead of healing, the warrior began to sicken. Friends and companions noticed the change in the woman but could not help whatever was happening to her..

 

The ache of something missing was constant, and getting worse as time passed. The Dragonborn knew what was happening to her and could deny it no longer.

 

Miraak had wanted her soul to leave Apocrypha. The man must have it now, or maybe just part of it. She didn’t know, really, but the Dragonborn knew nothing good could come of this for her.

* * *

 

 

A month later and the Dragonborn's mind and body seemed to cry out for her to return to Solstheim. The warrior had resisted this long and vowed to continue doing so. Miraak would not win.

 

The woman now dreamed of the First Dragonborn. Taunting her. Telling her she would come back and that she had no choice on the matter.

 

The woman refused to give into the temptation. And she suffered. The Dragonborn ate little, slept little, looked more dead than alive. In her current state, she could barely fight. She spent most of the day at home, having lost the desire to do anything. Part of her began to give up.

Would it really be so bad to go back? Anything would be better than feeling like this.

 

One day, as the Dragonborn lay in her home, she received a package from a courier. He ended up leaving it at the door as the woman did not feel the need to rise from her bed. Hours later, the woman finally checked the package.

 

There was no note with the delivery and the warrior became curious of what was sent to her. She unwrapped the large package and froze.

 

It was her sword, one of the many weapons she left behind in Solstheim. The Dragonborn tossed the sword away from her like it burned. She knew who sent this to her.

 

* * *

 

 

The next night, the Dragonborn found herself on a boat traveling to the Summerset Isles. The warrior felt the only thing she could do now was to leave and never return. Maybe she could find an Elf that could help her.

 

As the boat made its way through calm waters, the warrior began to lose the urge to return to Solstheim. The ache of something missing was lessening as well. With distance it seemed like Miraak’s hold on her was failing. The woman smiled genuinely for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime to her.

 

The Dragonborn slept fully, also for the first time in months. The gentle rocking of the boat lulled her into a dreamless slumber. When the woman woke, she felt better than she had in a long time. She yawed and her eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar sight.

 

Why was she outside?

 

The warrior blinked in confusion at her situation. She was on the same bed she had been on the boat, but now she and it were outside. Someone, more than likely several, had moved her as she slept. The sea was before her, a forest behind and the bright sun shone down. There was no boat or other person in sight.

 

The Dragonborn looked around and froze. This place was familiar. It was… Solstheim.

 

The woman panicked. She almost screamed at the realization she was back in the one place she dreaded more than anything else.

 

It didn’t matter how this happened. She needed to leave, now. The warrior quickly made her way to Raven Rock.

 

* * *

 

The Dragonborn tried to find a boat but found that no one would take her, not because they declined, but because they didn’t seem to even notice her. She spoke, no one listened. The woman went right up to them, they did not acknowledge her presence even as they made their way around her to get to their destination. In desperation she pushed a man. He got up and went on his way as if nothing happened.

 

The warrior yelled, she screamed, she almost cried. But no one paid any notice.

 

The ache returned that night as the woman sat brokenly gazing at the sea. She had been contemplating swimming all the way to Skyrim, even knowing she would not make it. The ache was worse than before and came with a new urge.

 

_Go to him._

 

The desire burned inside the woman and she found herself helpless to resist. She stumbled as she rose to walk. The last of her resistance began to fade away as she began to accept that Miraak had won. He owned her soul, and through it, her mind and body.

 

As the Dragonborn exhaustedly made her way towards the Temple of Miraak, she wondered what would happen to her. Would she become like the people here, brainwashed? Or was there something else Miraak had planned for her? Had Miraak wanted to kill her, he would have done it

 

So what fate did he have in store for her?

  
Filled with dread, the Dragonborn shook her mind of questions, knowing she would learn the answers soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one! I've got other stuff, some sorta similar to this, still written down so I'll post those eventually. :)


	3. Prisoner

“Lord Miraak wishes to see you.” The voice was cold, feminine and haughty. The owner of it sneered as she looked down at the exhausted woman laying on a threadbare pallet, at one time the hope of Solstheim. Now she was no longer. The Last Dragonborn had lost to Miraak in Apocrypha, somehow survived the encounter, had her _Thu’um_ and magic suppressed by some ungodly tactic by the First Dragonborn and was now just a prisoner.

 

“I don’t want to see him.” The Last Dragonborn sighed, turning away from the the cultist and trying to burrow deeper in her bed. She was trying to ward off the chill, though that was impossible considering the pallet was thin and the sheet was threadbare at best. The woman had grown somewhat used to sleeping on it even though it was uncomfortable.

 

The Last Dragonborn closed her eyes, hoping the cultist would leave. She just wanted to be left alone to wallow in her misery. She had failed them. Everyone on Solstheim had put their trust in her and she had let them down. Guilt was her constant companion. Part of her thought this imprisonment was what she deserved for letting everyone down. But even so, another part of her was furious at her situation.

 

If given the chance she would face Miraak again in a heartbeat, but not as she was now. The warrior was not given enough to eat, slept little and was tired almost every waking moment. She was kept in the cell almost every hour of the day and her body had lost some of its fitness in the month or so she had been locked up. When she escaped, she would need time to train and strengthen her body once more. Then she would face that man again.

 

“Would you like a few more buckets of ice water thrown on you again? I will gladly dispense such a punishment if you would prefer that over a simple meeting.” The female cultist’s voice was filled with cruel amusement. She had enjoyed doing that previously. The Dragonborn could hear her tapping her foot impatiently.

 

“... Fine.” The Dragonborn growled, irritation flaring. She shifted so she was sitting up, not wanting to spend the next few days in her cell shivering from the dampness of her clothes, bed and practically everything else in her cell. The cultists wouldn’t allow the woman to dry off so she had been forced to wait several days for everything to dry by itself. She hadn’t gotten sick, but the situation had been miserable and humiliating.

 

Oddly, the punishments dispensed towards the Last Dragonborn had rarely been physical. It mostly consisted of humiliation, taunts, skipped meals and isolation. When she tried to escape, sometimes violence was used to subdue her but it was never used as a punishment. The woman felt a little humiliated by that. Was she some sort of trophy for these people?

 

The Dragonborn didn’t know if Miraak ordered those punishments or if he just didn’t care what her captors did to her. The warrior had not seen him but twice since she had been imprisoned in this place. The first time was when he came to gloat after she woke up in the cell. The second time was a week later when the woman escaped to the top level of the Temple by overpowering the man who brought her food. It had been easy, too easy, but the warrior had taken the chance to try and escape.

 

Miraak had been waiting by the entrance of the Temple, the only way out. He didn’t move a muscle as she was taken down by the two elite cultists in the room with him. They dragged her back to her cell, laughing at how easy it had been. The woman had screamed insults at them and Miraak, realizing they had been toying with her. The First Dragonborn had suggested she needed to be ‘cooled off’. That was the first time they had used the ice water.

 

* * *

 

“What do you want, Miraak.?” The Dragonborn snapped as she was left alone with her enemy. Her hands were bound behind her back but even if they weren’t, the woman knew she wasn’t in any condition to kill him or even make it out of the temple. She stood below him as Miraak sat on his throne. The stairs leading up to it had been repaired, it seemed.

 

“Why the hostility, _Dovahkiin_? I treat you quite well, don’t you think?” The First Dragonborn sounded amused at her anger.

 

“Well? You keep be locked up night and day. Your guards humiliate and taunt me at every opportunity. That is well to you?” The Last Dragonborn spat.

 

“Would you rather have me treat you like my enemies? What would you prefer, having your body burn in a vat of acid or slowly be roasted alive in one of the hanging cages? Or do you wish for me to chain you to one of the bristlebacks and let it run free over rough terrain? How much of your flesh would remain on your body after that?” The woman remained quiet after Miraak’s questions but glared at him. He continued. “I have done nothing to harm you since I took you prisoner. Be grateful, I can change my mind.”

 

“Why are you keeping me here, Miraak? What do you want from me?”

 

“Your cooperation. As another Dragonborn, you would be a great asset if you joined me.” Miraak stated bluntly.

 

“ _What?_ ” The woman laughed. “No, you’ll never get my cooperation. Not after what you’ve done.” After everything Miraak had done, he thought she would just give herself to his service?

 

“Dragonborn.” Miraak chided. “It is your own choices that led you into this situation. Had you minded your own business, you would not be here. There was no need for you to interfere with my work on Solstheim. You chose to and now you face the consequences.”

 

“I could never leave innocents to someone like you. You are nothing but a vile tyrant that deserved to stay in that hellhole with Hermaeus Mora.”

 

“Fortunately for me, you failed you task.” Miraak reminded. “Now again Dragonborn. I offer you a choice. You can stay in your cell or join me. Accept my offer and you will be better off.”

 

“I will never accept any deal with you!”

 

“Would it be so bad? Swear your allegiance to me, serve me and you will be released. In time you may be given back your Voice.” The man reasoned.

 

“Fuck you and your offer, traitor!”

 

“I see that I will not get through to you today.” Miraak didn’t seem at all disappointed that the female warrior had refused, likely even expecting it. He turned to two cultists who had come into the room, likely summoned by him with his power. “Take her back to her cell.”

 

His servants nodded and moved towards the female Dragonborn. As they took hold of her, she spoke once more.

 

“One day Miraak, I will be free. You’ll pay for everything you’ve done.” The woman swore, struggling to keep the cultists from pulling her away before she could finish. Miraak laughed at her threat.

  
“Enjoy your stay in the cells, _Dovahkiin_. We will speak again another time, where I hope you will be a little more agreeable.” His voice followed the woman as she was dragged away.


	4. Pity

“Miraak?” The soft, feminine voice broke the former Dragon Priest out of his slumber.  He was immediately irritated at being woken up and forced to feel the aches and pains of his body. Miraak had been dreaming he was not here in this icy, dark prison, but somewhere where he still had his freedom, his dignity, his everything.

 

Miraak would choose Apocrypha over the situation he found himself now.

 

The man kept his eyes closed as he heard the jingling of keys and the rattling of metal. He was exhausted, in pain and hungry. The last thing Miraak wanted was for the cause of his misery to come back.

 

The door screeched open after a few moments of noise. Miraak felt the Last Dragonborn’s power as she stepped into his cell. The call of her soul was invigorating. He felt anger bubble up inside of him. Her soul should have been his.

 

“Are you awake?” The woman asked. She guessed he was but was just not reacting to her. He had done that the last time she had come here, refusing to acknowledge her presence. She had left quickly both times she had come to see him, too full of guilt to stay long. “The guards tell me you’re not eating. I brought food.”

 

 _Why do you care?_ Miraak thought to himself. _Do you feel guilt? Pity? I don’t want either of those things._

 

Not hearing his thoughts, the woman stepped closer. She paused. Miraak could smell something then, something good. His stomach growled loudly at the scent of food. His guards had brought him a meal several hours ago but Miraak had refused to eat. That slop hadn’t been fit to feed a Skeever. He had thrown up the meal before that. The guards had laughed.

 

“Miraak?” No response. The female Dragonborn hadn’t really expected one though. Miraak was likely furious with her, and he had every right to be.

 

The woman walked forward and sat down in front of the First Dragonborn. He still didn’t move. She looked over at his form, seeing that the Skaal hadn’t bothered cleaning or dressing his wounds. They had taken his robes, leaving him in thin clothing that did nothing to ward of the chill. His skin was much paler than any normal person and his wounds and bruises were more prominent because of that.

 

The former Dragon Priest’s arms were chained around a column, his back pressed against it. A gag was around his mouth and the back of his head. She could see spots of fresh and dried blood over the material. The man’s ankles were chained too, but the metal lengths were loose enough that he could move his legs. The Skaal wanted to make sure Miraak suffered and was not given any opportunity to escape until his execution. They hated the First Dragonborn with a passion.

 

The woman set down the tray she was holding beside her. There was a plate of fresh fruit on it, a soup made of chicken and herbs and some soft bread. The Skaal guards had given her odd looks when she brought the food with her. They wondered why she was bringing such a meal for the vile tyrant.

 

“Miraak.” The woman called his name once more. “I know you’re awake. I’m not leaving until you respond this time.”

 

The First Dragonborn wished he could speak. If he could, he would tell this woman exactly what he thought of her. Had she not been such a fool, then he would not be here. He would have at least died with some dignity.

 

“Miraak… I know you’re angry but I’m willing to help you.” The woman was close to pleading, the guilt evident in her voice. “Just trust me this once?”

 

The man almost scoffed at the offer of help from the woman. A part of Miraak was even glad the Last Dragonborn felt guilt. Any sort of pain she was in was was well deserved.

 

But even though the First Dragonborn hated her, he knew it would be wise to listen and take whatever help he could get. Even if at this point Miraak felt like his life was meaningless. He had lost the most important part of himself, thanks to both Hermaeus Mora and his new Champion.

 

Miraak ended up relenting to her request. He was hungry and his mouth was watering at the thought of edible food being so close. He decided he would take her help. He would use her guilt to his advantage. He was already fantasizing of what he would do when he was free. Fantasies were all he had for the last few days.

 

If the Last Dragonborn was able to free him then Miraak would take his revenge. Once healed, he would kill Hermaeus’s Champion for all the humiliation he faced. After that, the Skaal would face his wrath. Then he would take Solstheim once again… Though that would be unlikely, as Miraak was now. As he would be.

 

The First Dragonborn opened his eyes and raised his head then, knowing the woman would not leave until she got what she wanted. He blinked a few times, to focus his eyes, and then glared coldly at the woman before him.

 

The Last Dragonborn looked back at him sadly, before gesturing to the tray beside her. Once again, Miraak’s stomach rumbled as he eyed the food.

 

“Will you eat something?”

 

Slowly losing the glare, the man sighed through his gag. He nodded. His stomach was in agony with its emptiness. Without nourishment, his body couldn't heal the multitude of wounds and bruises he still bore. His magic was useless, this prison enchanted to drain magicka.

 

Gently, the woman moved to untie his gag around his mouth. Miraak almost moaned in relief of having it taken out. It made his mouth painfully dry, causing his lips and the corners of his mouth to crack and bleed.

 

“I won’t let them put this back on.” The Last Dragonborn murmured softly, balling up and setting the piece of fabric beside the tray of food. Miraak said nothing in return. The warrior then focused her attention on the chains. She stood up and stepped behind Miraak. After many frustrated minutes, she had to give up. She could not unlock them, not even with her proficient skill in lockpicking.

 

“I can’t unlock the chains from yours arms.” The woman spoke as she sat back down. “I’m sorry, you’re going to have to let me do this.”

 

What was one more humiliation? Miraak was willing to go through with this to have another chance at both freedom and revenge… And to stop the constant ache of his empty stomach.

 

The Last Dragonborn set the tray in her lap and picked up a glass of liquid first. She barely looked at the man as she lifted the glass to his dry lips. At the first mouthful, Miraak grimaced. It was a healing potion, fairly bitter in its potentness. He drank it all down, feeling the effects almost immediately. His body began to heal as he finished the glass. It didn’t fully heal him, but Miraak was relieved that it had at least healed the damage around and in his mouth. That had been the most painful.

 

After that, Miraak devoured his first good meal in Nirn. The Last Dragonborn looked at him as little as possible as she fed him. Embarrassed for herself and him, likely. The man didn’t do the same, not caring if he was staring at her. He wanted to make her uncomfortable as he took some enjoyment from such a trivial thing.

 

After Miraak finished a majority of what was on the tray, she set it back on the ground. Miraak closed his eyes again, his gesture for her to leave. Instead, the Last Dragonborn moved so she was sitting beside him. Neither spoke. One because she couldn’t think of what to say. The other because he _couldn’t_.

 

“I’m sorry.” She murmured softly from beside him. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

Rage once again began to flare up inside Miraak at her apology. As if an apology would make things right. This was all her fault. Hermaeus was likely still laughing in his realm. Reveling in the pain his former Champion was now in.

 

“I’m so sorry they cut…” The woman trailed off once more, still horrified at what the Skaal had done. Horrified that someone could one day do it to her if they wanted to prevent her from Shouting. Her ability was a part of her now, she could not see herself without it. For Miraak it was probably more so. His _Thu'um_ had been a part of him for thousands of years.

 

The Last Dragonborn’s guilt brings her here to see him, Miraak knows. Forcing her to try and help him. Helpless as he was without his voice, without his tongue. No apology from her could fix this.

 

“If I had known what would happen, I would have never done what I did. I swear. I just wanted… I don’t know what I wanted.” The woman admitted. “I’ll get you out tonight. I promise. You won’t have to stay here much longer.”

 

Miraak hated relying on his enemy but he had no choice. Eyes still closed, he nodded. He heard her sigh in relief.

* * *

 

The female Dragonborn vowed to free Miraak as she sat beside him in this cold cell. It was only right, as his situation was her fault.

 

The warrior should have let Hermaeus Mora kill Miraak. Instead, she had tried to intervene, feeling pity for Miraak and his situation. If she saved him, she hoped Miraak would be grateful. Maybe he would listen to her, maybe it would be the start of his change into becoming a better man. Maybe he would one day become every bit the hero she had become for Skyrim and Solstheim. There were so many things the woman had hoped would happen, if Miraak lived.

 

But things hadn’t gone how the Dragonborn envisioned them.

 

Hermaeus laughed at her request and then warned her that both of them would face consequences for her decision. She would have to share some of the pain he meant for Miraak. She accepted, willing to take some punishment if it meant Miraak would live. She believed this was the right choice.

 

The woman didn't notice Miraak attempting to speak, wanting desperately to tell her how foolish she was. He knew Hermaeus would not let him live without making sure he suffered. Death would be the better option but he was unable to say a word before his Master began his assault.

 

The Daedric Prince first violently punished Miraak for defying him. His pained cries still lingered in the woman’s mind when she thought about what she had witnessed. After much too long, Miraak was then ejected from Apocrypha. The Daedra had then turned his attentions on the horrified Last Dragonborn. She had screamed and lost consciousness much sooner than her rival had.

 

The female Dragonborn woke up in the Skaal village, wondering how she came to be here. Her body ached but she had been healed of her wounds. She got up to find Freya sitting outside her room, guarding her. The Dragonborn immediately began to question the Nord woman.

 

Freya explained that she had been unconscious for two days after appearing in the center of the village in a blinding flash of light. The day prior Miraak had appeared the same way but, as he was heavily injured, the Skaal had easily taken him prisoner.

 

The Last Dragonborn had demanded to see Miraak immediately, thankful he was still alive. It was a miracle the Skaal hadn’t killed him. He was their people’s enemy.

 

It was later that she found out what the Skaal had done. To make sure Miraak would never be a threat again, they had severed his tongue. The guards had boasted about it when she was taken down into the prisons. The woman had been appalled but none of the Skaal seemed to think what they had done was wrong. To them, the tyrant deserved his fate. He was a threat and they had taken care of it the best way they could. Never again could Miraak use his Voice to beguile the people of Solstheim.

 

Miraak was chained and gagged, left to sit in their icy dungeon until his execution, which was to be in several days. They were planning a celebration after his death and needed time to prepare. They knew Miraak would not be able to free himself, the prison preventing anyone from using their magicka.

 

The female Dragonborn hastily made her exit the first time she saw Miraak. He had sensed her and quickly turned to face her. She could feel the weight of his burning gaze and the hatred behind it.

 

The warrior knew then that all of this was her fault. Miraak would still die despite her efforts, but now he would die powerless and humiliated. Hermaeus had made sure to send Miraak to the people who truly hated him.

 

Guilty, the woman curled up in her room that night but forced herself to see Miraak again the next day. He ignored her that time. Later, she demanded the Skaal turn him over to her. They refused, saying that Miraak was their prisoner to deal with and they would deal with him the right way.

 

The Dragonborn then decided she would take matters into her own hand and free Miraak herself.

 

The former Dragon Priest couldn't do as much without his Voice. The female Dragonborn was much more powerful than him this way. And without a way to use his _Thu’um_ , Miraak was no longer a threat to Solstheim. He was to the Skaal however. Even though the woman was angry at what they had done, she did not wish for them to die. Miraak was still a powerful mage and warrior.

 

The woman would need to take Miraak away from Solstheim and keep him far away from the Skaal. He would  so he could not take his revenge. The Dragonborn decided she would be his keeper, preventing him from doing evil but allowing him to have some sort of life as her way of apology. She was sure she could defend against any of his attempt on her life.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll get you out… I promise.” The Dragonborn swore out loud, breaking the silence. “I’ll make up for all this. Somehow.”

 

Beside her, Miraak sighed in resignation, knowing he had little choice in the matter. She was his only hope out of this hell. Once he was free, he would find someway to regain the use of his Voice. Though he had never read anything in Apocrypha about regrowing parts of a body, there would have to be something, somewhere. If not, then he would create some way.

  
He would have his Voice back. He would not accept anything less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't really know what I was doing with this once but here it is anyway. I'll admit it's kind of rushed.


	5. Mother

“You are Miraak?” The Dragonborn’s voice was composed despite the situation she found herself in. There was a strange man, clad in dark robes and a golden mask, before her. He was in her house,  _ beside her son. _ She wondered how her voice could stay so calm when her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest with how quickly it was beating. She felt faint as dread and apprehension filled her body.

 

“I am. And you are the Last Dragonborn. The slayer of Alduin.” His response was not a question. The mask altered the man’s voice, making it sound odd. It roused the sleeping child in the cradle and the infant gave a soft cry at being disturbed. His mother felt the desire to look upon her son, to make sure he was okay. But she could not. She was too far away from the cradle to even catch a glimpse of her child.

 

The Last Dragonborn was still, though she longed to snatch up her son and keep him far away from the threat beside him. She was afraid of making the wrong move and putting her son at risk. Who knows what this man would do?

 

“What do you want?” The woman asked bluntly, not wanting to play around. Miraak was here because he wanted something. She had heard of this man once before, though she had never seen him. Rumors flew around that a man in a golden mask, supposedly another Dragonborn, had taken over the island of Solstheim.

 

“Calm yourself  _ Dovahkiin _ . I come here with no ill intentions towards you or your child.” Miraak could easily see the fear in her eyes, though it was not for herself but the boy beside him. The Last Dragonborn’s hands were also clenched, one resting on the hilt of her sword.

 

“Then what have you come here for?” The woman snapped, losing her composure. He had come into her home without permission, he was now near her child and he expected her to stay calm? No, that was not possible. She also wasn’t sure she believed him. Though, if he truly wanted to hurt her, she supposed he could have done so already.

 

“He is a fine child.” Miraak did not answer her question. “I can sense an aura around him. He can become a powerful mage, with the right training.”

 

“I don’t think you came all the way here to just see my son.” The woman said carefully. She did not want to anger the man even though she wanted to scream at him to tell her what he wanted.

 

“Again, I will say that I have not come here to harm you or your child. Instead, I have come with an offer, one that will benefit the both of you.” Miraak responded.

 

“What?” Benefit them? The female warrior narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Even so, she was curious. “And what would that offer be?”

 

“I am willing to offer you and your son a place on my island, as well as protection from your enemies.”

 

“I can protect myself and my son just fine!” The woman scoffed. She was the slayer of Alduin! She was the Dragonborn! If her son was not right beside him, she would show this Miraak what she was made of. She would have sent him running back to Solstheim with his tail between his legs.

 

At least, that was what she wanted to believe. Realistically, she wasn’t at all sure about that. 

 

“Can you truthfully say you are the same warrior you were a year ago? You are still powerful, but not as you once were. You still need time to regain your former strength.” Miraak stated. He seemed to know much about her. “You’ve given up much for this child. What will you do when your enemies take hold of him? As soon as they have him in their grasp, you will be as helpless as you are now. They could make you do whatever they wished. You will not risk your son. With such a weakness to exploit and the chance to control the Dragonborn, do you really believe you will be safe from those seeking you?”

 

The female Dragonborn bristled at her son being called a weakness. That was what others had called him when they tried to change her mind about motherhood. Even so, the man was right about what he said. She would do anything if someone had her child in their grasp. She never realized the extent of love she could feel for someone until after her son was born. At first, she found it hard to bond with him but one day, something had changed. Now the mother could not see her life without her son.

 

The Dragonborn had been training hard since her son’s birth, trying to return her body to its former strength. She was no weakling but she knew she was still not as strong as before. All she needed was just a bit more time to train, she thought. But would that be enough? A single enemy would just have to reach her son and she would be as helpless as Miraak said. He was right about her not risking her child. 

 

She had only gone out to feed the animals after putting her son to sleep. It was a task that only took about fifteen minutes. She had lain traps and runes around her home in case someone approached. Even so she found herself defeated as Miraak had still been able to enter her lands and home without trouble. 

 

“And you want to help me?” The woman finally spoke after a minute.

 

“Yes. It will be mutually beneficial.” He explained. “Come with me to Solstheim. There you will not have any worry over enemies as all citizens are under my influence. They are unable to harm me or my followers. You may raise your child there in peace.”

 

“Under your influence?” Were the rumors true that he kept them enrolled with some sort of dark magic? The thought was terrifying. 

 

“Of course, you and your son would be an exception. I will swear to keep my magic away from you.” Miraak added after seeing the woman’s expression.

 

“And what will you get in return?” The Last Dragonborn wondered why Miraak would offer her this. Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill her?

 

“You will swear that you will never betray me or raise a hand against me. You will stay on Solstheim for the rest of your life and must ignore any of my own doings, no matter what they may be. I may also have some tasks for you, on occasion.”

 

“What kind of things would you have me do?” The woman couldn’t believe she was actually considering his offer. 

 

“Nothing that would be unwilling to do.”

 

“Why offer me this?” 

 

“Because you are the Last Dragonborn. I respect you and your accomplishments. Other threats to my rule would be eliminated. But I believe it would be a shame to have to kill another like myself and orphan a child. If I can make certain you will be no threat to me, and also make some use of you then I am willing to do so.”

 

“I don’t… How do I know you won’t use the same magic on us that you did on Solstheim’s people? How do I know you won’t kill us some day?” 

 

“You don’t. But I could easily kill you right now, if I wanted to. And so could anyone else if they came at the right opportunity.” Miraak explained, and then added. “Think of your child. Think of the enemies you will face the rest of your life that will target your son just because of his heritage. I am your best chance for his wellbeing.”

 

“I don’t-”

 

“Many of your friends have betrayed you for your choice to become a mother. They do not understand and that is why you are alone here. You will not be safe forever.”

 

He was right. She knew he was right. There was a reason there was no one else with her at this house. The ones that did come were few and seldom often. She chose her path and many of the people she knew had not understood. They wanted her to spend her life solving the problems of Skyrim and motherhood was not included in that. 

 

“... Fine” The woman hated the words coming out of her mouth. But she would do anything for her son. After everything she had done, how dare anyone judge her for wanting to raise her child. She had saved the world from Alduin! Why wasn’t that enough? “I accept.”

 

“Good.” Miraak sounded pleased. “My servants will arrive shortly to help you prepare. They are yours to command.”

 

“I don’t trust you.” The woman found herself saying.

 

“A wise choice. But in this case, you have nothing to worry about.” Miraak responded. “As long as you do not interfere in my plans, there is nothing for you to fear.” As he said this, the man finally began to step away from the cradle. 

 

“Am I to leave with you?” The warrior hoped not.

 

“No, you will not be traveling with me. There is still much to be done in Skyrim.” He remarked casually. He stepped past her on his way out the door. “I shall see you next in Solstheim.”

 

When he left, the Last Dragonborn rushed over to her child. She picked him up and pressed him to her chest. The boy cried out at being moved so quickly but soon gave a happy burble when he was rocked gently. The woman felt relief wash over her.

 

After a few moments, the Dragonborn finally looked around. She realized she could leave now, before Miraak’s servants came. Pack some essentials and just find a new home, Miraak be damned. 

 

But this would just happen again. And maybe the woman would not get so ‘lucky’ next time. Sighing, knowing she was not living up to her title as hero, Dragonborn or anything else she had been bestowed, the woman sat down and waited. 

  
  
  
  



	6. Empty

The Last Dragonborn eyed the...  _ Thing _ sitting on the floor of her home. It had been staring in the same direction for the last hour with almost no movement. It was better than what it had been doing before, staring at her with its dark, empty eyes.

 

She refused to think of it as a person. It wasn’t now. 

 

Miraak was gone. This thing just had his shape.

 

* * *

 

Months after defeating the First Dragonborn in Apocrypha, Hermaeus Mora appeared to the Dragonborn as she was revisiting Miraak’s temple. Told a band of brigands had taken the structure over, the female warrior journeyed there to defeat them. As the last bandit was taken down, the temple went dark.

 

In that darkness, the Prince of Knowledge partially manifested himself in front of the bewildered Dragonborn. It had been startling to see the Daedra once again. The warrior had been wishing since Apocrypha that she would never have to again.

 

Hermaeus Mora was only there briefly, offering her both a gift and a warning. The Prince said he would be giving her a slave, one that she could do with as she pleased. He explained that it would follow her to the ends of Nirn if she wanted and could never disobey.

 

The Dragonborn tried to refuse the gift but the Daedra would have none of that. He warned her then, if she let the slave die she would face severe consequences.

 

Wary, the woman watched as the Daedra’s power began to summon something before them. When the slave appeared, she gasped. The Dragonborn could feel the same aura she did every time she faced Miraak. The man before her was the First Dragonborn. But something was very wrong. 

 

There seemed to be nothing in Miraak’s blank gaze. He was dressed in rags with every part of his exposed skin covered in scars. They looked long healed but the woman could see everywhere that damage had once been done. It was horrifying. The man stared at her impassively as the Prince spoke. His eyes and face showed no emotion.

 

Hermaeus explained that the former Champion was hers to command. The man’s mind had been completely destroyed and there would be no recovery from it. The Daedric Prince then reminded her once again that he was not allowed to die.

 

After that, the Daedra was gone.

 

* * *

 

The Last Dragonborn had been horrified at her ‘gift’. She backed away and turned tail to flee, leaving her new servant behind.

 

But Miraak followed.

 

The Last Dragonborn had raced away from the Temple, mounting a horse waiting outside. She hoped to get as far away from this place as possible. The warrior urged her horse into a gallop.

 

Once she thought she made it far enough away, the woman slowed down. Her horse’s breathing was labored. It had little time to rest from its journey to the temple and had been made to run hard soon after. The Dragonborn knew she needed to let the beast rest a while. Instead of riding, the woman then spent an hour walking and leading her horse to Raven Rock.

 

Close to her destination, the female warrior felt a presence near her.  

 

Breath coming in gasps, the shell of the First Dragonborn sprinted into view. He was barely dressed and shivered in the cold as he stumbled near her. He stopped in front of her, eyes wide and staring. His feet were bloodied from running over jagged ground, his legs trembled in exhaustion. After a moment, the man dropped to the ground and panted. He attempted to get up but could not, struggling to get back on two feet.

 

The woman had once again been horrified but overcame the urge to run. Pity and guilt began to form and overwhelm her and she neared the exhausted man. She had healed his feet and dressed the man in a spare robe. She helped him onto her horse. 

 

She knew it wouldn’t have been that easy to get rid of Miraak. In the end, she had no choice but to take him with her. 

 

Throughout the trip the warrior had tried to get Miraak to respond to her. Nothing came of it. 

 

* * *

 

The Dragonborn could admit her ‘slave’ scared her. Not him exactly, but what his state meant for her. If she angered Hermaeus Mora enough, would that be her fate as well? Maybe that was why the Daedric Prince had given that  _ thing _ to her. To constantly remind her what fate awaited her if she refused to obey. He knew she would be disobedient. The woman had already vowed that she would not willingly serve such a cruel being.

 

In her bed, with  _ it  _ somewhere in her house, the woman shuddered in fear at the thought of the future.


	7. Reflection

The Last Dragonborn no longer looked in mirrors. She avoided gazing into the water or into any surface which could reflect her own image. She no longer carried shiny steel weapons or armor. Instead, she chose to wear dark colored armor and weapons. Nothing that she could catch a glimpse of herself in.

 

The woman found that people tended to be more intimidated by her because of her chosen attire. They didn’t talk to her as much or greet her as often. Some avoided her entirely. The warrior did not like this but she had no choice but to dress that way.

 

The Dragonborn did not like what stared back at her when she looked into a mirror, into the water or into any surface which should have shown herself... Because it was not  _ her _ that stared back. 

 

It was him. Miraak. 

 

When the Dragonborn looked into the mirror, she saw the form of her former nemesis staring back. He looked as he did on the Summit of Apocrypha before his master killed him. His mask and robes, which she now owned and stored in a locked chest, obscured his face and form.

 

The warrior could never tell the man’s expression but to her, he always seemed amused. It was so very unsettling. 

 

Because of that, the woman could not bear to look at herself any more. She tried her hardest to make sure she would not have to see Miraak all the time. 

 

The woman wondered if this was happening because she knew she tread the same path as Miraak. Was her mind showing her what she tried to deny?

 

The Dragonborn knew she was Hermaeus Mora's new Champion. How long would it be before she ended up like Miraak? Trapped in Apocrypha for thousands of years, hoping for a chance to free herself? 

 

Hermaeus would not wait forever. The Daedric Prince had not called upon the woman yet but he would one day. The Dragonborn had vowed not serve him. But what choice did she have against such a being? 

 

The warrior had no doubt Hermaeus had everything planned out. He could make her do as he wished, despite what she herself wanted. She was damned.

 

For now, all the Dragonborn could do now was wait. She would have see how her life would play out now that she had gotten herself entangled in the grasp of such a powerful being. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short little one-shot.


	8. Revenge

“What in the-” The Dragonborn spoke aloud in shock at what she found before her. She was inside Miraak’s temple once more, in the large chamber where the cages hung. It had been months since she defeated the First Dragonborn and this was her first time back since then.

 

The female warrior was surprised to find that someone had placed a skeleton on Miraak’s throne. It was unusually tall, and sat bent forward with its arms hanging down. 

 

That had not been there before, the woman was sure of that. She wasn’t sure why anyone would even do this. The Dragonborn was about to turn around and leave it alone when a thought crossed her mind. 

 

What if…?

 

The woman turned back to the throne and narrowed her eyes. They then widened when she realized  _ who _ was on the throne. Miraak. 

 

There was no one else she had encountered that was as tall as him. And she now recognized his bones, having last seen them in Apocrypha. She had a good memory for these things, being a necromancer as well as the Last Dragonborn.

 

Was this some sort of joke from Hermaeus Mora? Let only Miraak’s remains enjoy the freedom of Nirn while his soul was trapped somewhere else? It could have been. And to her, it seemed a fitting end for the former Dragon Priest.

 

The woman gazed at the figure on the throne and another idea crossed her mind. Miraak had caused a lot of problems for her. She believed he got what he deserved in the end. But because of him, Hermaeus Mora now had his sights on her. It was his fault she was in this predicament now. 

 

As the Dragonborn, she was allowed to be a little petty, was she not? It looked like her potential ‘Master’ was as well. 

 

The Last Dragonborn was a skilled necromancer. She had mastered her chosen school some time ago. Miraak’s skeleton was fully intact and therefore she might be able to do as she wanted.

 

The female warrior raised her hands and focused. Her hands glowed blue with a Conjuration spell. She let it loose at the figure on the throne. The glowing ball of Magicka hit the bones, making them rattle and shake.

 

But nothing happened. The glow dissipated quickly.

 

It was as expected. The spell had been low level. The woman had been hoping that it would work, just to add another insult to Miraak.

 

The mage then tried the next level spell. But that did not work either. After a few more tries, she tried her most powerful spell. Dead Thrall.

 

But again nothing happened. At least at first. The Dragonborn could swear the bones moved a little by themselves a few seconds after the spell dissipated. 

 

So the female warrior tried again, focusing once more. The blue glow engulfed the skeleton, lingering now. But now she was sure there was movement. 

 

Once more the necromancer concentrated, sweat beading her forehead. She cast the spell again. And again. 

 

Finally, after many tries, it took.

 

The ethereal blue glow swirled around Miraak, suffusing his remains with a steady blue aura. Then, he began to move. The skeletal Miraak placed his hands on the rests of the throne and pushed himself up. He moved awkwardly, jumbled and stuttering. 

 

He jumped off the ledge, stumbling and almost falling to the ground before standing in front of her. 

 

The woman found herself feeling rather triumphant. She smiled at the still figure. The great Miraak was now a servant of the Dragonborn he once mocked. 

 

The warrior felt a sense of satisfaction at what she had done. Her display of vindictiveness felt good. Yes, she should be above this sort of thing but this man had tried to kill her. And left her with a Daedric Lord sized problem. This petty bit of revenge was nothing compared to that. It was pretty harmless, really.

 

The Last Dragonborn wondered wherever Miraak was now, if he was aware what was happening to his remains. And if he raged at what she had done. 

 

She hoped he was.

 

With that done, the Dragonborn began to do what she came here for: scrounging up whatever valuables she could. She needed a bit more funds for her manor. Once it was finished, she planned to retire from this whole Dragonborn business and work on her necromancy. 

 

Just a few more months and it would be done. Then she could get back to her books and research. 

 

The Dragonborn commanded her new servant to follow and he did, now moving a little more gracefully. She picked up an abandoned longsword and handed it to the thrall as they headed deeper into the temple.

 

* * *

 

A few encounters with the odd creature or bandit later, the woman and her thrall began to head back to the entrance of the temple. Miraak had done well in combat. Maybe she would keep him permanently, though she would have to make sure if he was ever ‘killed’ she would be able to revive him once more. Skeletons that had been torn apart were notoriously hard to revive. She was capable of it, however it was time consuming to reassemble all the pieces. That was the reason she rarely raised skeletons anymore. They were usually only useful the one time.

 

But maybe, the Dragonborn thought, she could bind Miraak’s bones someway to make sure he did not fall apart when defeated? A smith might be able to help her with that. Maybe-

 

The Dragonborn inhaled sharply and stopped mid stride. The woman opened her mouth but a gurgle was all she could manage. Blood trickled from her mouth as she slowly looked down. 

 

There was a blade protruding from her abdomen. 

 

She could not believe it at first. 

 

_ How? _

 

It then twisted sharply, and pulled out with a wet sound, causing the woman to scream in pain. She turned around as she fell, seeing Miraak’s skeleton towering over her, the longsword in his hand dripping with blood. Her own blood.

 

The Dragonborn tried to get up but could not move. The weapon had done too much damage. Her body was going into shock and she was bleeding out too fast. 

 

Unable to breathe as the fluid began to fill her throat and mouth, the female Dragonborn’s vision began to fade. She coughed up blood as the figure in front of her stood impassively. 

 

It was just watching her die. 

 

Her body began to glow and for the first time, the woman understood what it felt like to have her soul be torn from her. It  _ hurt _ . Even more than her physical wound. 

 

The dragon souls left her first, all turning into stream of bright colors as they erupted from her body. As the woman breathed her last, all she dimly saw was the flesh and sinew forming on the skeleton, still standing beside her, and now absorbing all the souls that fled her dying body. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another quick one from my Google doc of fic ideas. I still have a bunch of other stuff I want to write from there too. ;p


	9. Safe

The Dragonborn closed her eyes as she rested her head against cold stone. She sat nearby the elevated throne in the main hall of a large temple. The former warrior found herself rather tired, not sleeping much the night before. She was also a little anxious, being in a room full of people.

The woman frowned as she tried to block out the sounds of Men and Mer speaking below her. They conversed with one another as they waited and their noise was irritating. She just wanted to rest.

Vivid nightmares kept the female Dragonborn up. There was rarely a night without them. The memories of what she had gone through repeated in her mind, evolving and morphing to become even worse in her dreams. The Dragonborn normally woke with her heart racing and sweat covering her form. She would huddle in the furs, sometimes able to fall back sleep, sometimes not. And rarely, she would leave to seek out the only person that made her feel better.

Despite everything, the woman never cried out in fear. She could not, with her vocal cords damaged beyond repair. And even if she could, she would not. It was a lesson she had learned during her imprisonment, along with many others. Speaking meant punishment. Fighting meant. Resisting meant punishment. Disobeying meant punishment. The punishment meant pain and tears. Endless pain and tears. And that was something she could not handle.

Not again. Not ever again.

The woman tried forgetting but it was difficult. Looking at her own reflection in the mirror reminded her of what happened. The scars on her body were always there to evoke the memories of the abuse. The burns on her body, the circle of scar tissue on wrists and ankles, the line of damage along her throat, even the hollowness and brokenness when she looked herself in the eyes.

The Dragonborn knew she would never be the woman she once was. But… Here in his temple… Here where  _he_  was... She was okay with that.

* * *

There was the sound of approaching footsteps and the broken woman opened her eyes, lifting her head up in a moment of alertness.

He was back. Her savior.

The man sat himself on the throne, laying a hand on her head. She reacted to the touch, leaning into it. The anxiety she felt receded, allowing her to finally relax.

This man brought her comfort. He would not let her be taken again. He would never hurt her. The Dragonborn knew this. The man swore this to her. And she believed him. He was the first in years to show kindness to her broken form.

Her savior told her his name was Miraak and that he was the First Dragonborn. He explained that he had freed himself from the grasp of a Daedric Lord. He had returned to rule what he believed was his, Solstheim and eventually the rest of Tamriel. He admitted he had been looking for her for some time when he realized she was still among the living.

The Last Dragonborn did not care who Miraak was and what he wanted. He could do whatever he wished. As far as the woman was concerned, she was no longer a warrior. She would and could no longer fight. She had already accepted her fate, wherever it would take her, some time ago.

The broken woman had accepted that she would never be free. Never be free from the pain. Never be free from the humiliation. Never be free from the hollowness in her stomach, the dryness in her throat from withheld food and water.

But fate decided to be merciful after years of cruelty. The Last Dragonborn was now free. Miraak had arrived and killed her captors. At the time she had not known if he would treat her any better.

But with him, there was no pain. No punishments. No humiliation. No cruelty at all. Miraak never hurt her. He instead promised to protect her when he realized the extent of what was done to her.

* * *

The female Dragonborn moved herself forward, laying her head against the soft robes Miraak wore. He gave her soft furs for her room, but the Last Dragonborn always preferred his robes. The same robes he had draped her in when he found her, half dead and covered in grime.

Miraak stroked his hand through her hair, making the female Dragonborn smile. She loved his hands. They had healed her. They had picked her up from her prison even though she was probably the filthiest thing in the room. They had carried her to his horse, to and inn, into a tub where she was scrubbed clean by his servants and then finally to a bed, as she was too weak to walk.

The man never showed any annoyance when the female Dragonborn found herself seeking out his presence whenever possible. Even those rare times when she would wake from her nightmares in such terror that she would rush into his chambers. If he was awake, she would sit by him until she calmed down. Sometimes he allowed her to sleep in his bed while he continued doing whatever task he worked upon. If he was asleep and she woke him, he would allow her to curl up on the bed with him.

The Last Dragonborn stayed by the throne, content and happy for some time as Miraak spoke to those below him. She did not pay attention to what was said, almost falling asleep through it all. She didn't really care what was happening.

Nothing mattered to her anymore. Except him. He made her feel safe. He made this place feel like home. And that everything would be okay.

As long as she felt like this,  _safe_ , nothing and no one else mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short and quick one I kinda had an idea for.


	10. Forgotten

The Last Dragonborn had ruined everything. 

Miraak’s plans, so painstakingly thought out and implemented, were no longer possible. And with their demise so were his hopes of ever freeing himself from his imprisonment.

The female Dragonborn had released the All-Maker Stones and sauntered off back wherever she came from. Probably now reveling in her victory over him. Without Mora’s intervention, she would never had made it as far as she did. 

Instead of coming into Apocrypha to face him, the Last Dragonborn had destroyed Miraak’s temple. The female had not wanted to risk facing him in battle. 

So she ruined his plans and left Miraak here. In this place Gods forsaken place. To rot and be forgotten about.

That damned Daedra was the one to lead her to Solstheim as Miraak’s plans began to come to fruition. He had not send his cultists after her. What a stupid move that would have been.   
  
Hermaeus Mora would not forget this betrayal. Miraak would never have a chance at freedom like that again.    


Miraak felt too empty at that moment to rage at his fate. But he knew that anger and despair would come soon. 

He had an eternity to dwell on it, after all.


End file.
